


let you in under my skin

by icarusinflight



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, But that's unimportant, Hand Jobs, M/M, he's also an art student, photographer/artist zayn, too much overthinking and some terribly used metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: It's not staring if it's through a camera lens. Zayn wants to capture it all, from the cut of his cheekbones, the way he holds himself, the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.Zayn just wants to capture all of him.





	let you in under my skin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods! You have been wonderful and thank you for your support in making more Rarepair creations. You are absolute treasures.
> 
> Thank you to [shiftylinguini](http://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) for being an absolute champion. Thank you for zouis chats and gifs and for beta-ing and this when I threw it at you at 1am. I didn't think this would happen, and it certainly couldn't have without you.

Zayn surveys the party through the lens of his camera.

There’s something about that, he thinks, the distance he’s trying to put between himself and the party. Lately there’s been a feeling underneath his skin, something itching to come to the surface, and he thinks without the camera between himself and the party it might just come tumbling out, despite all his best intentions.

He’s never been much good at keeping things inside, not really. He uses his silence as a wall, just one of so many he’s put up between himself and the world at large.

Only sometimes people slip through.

The camera draws people towards him, leaning in for the lens and Zayn always acquiesces, bringing the camera up to his face to snap a picture of the two guys as they throw their arms up for the camera. Zayn takes a few snaps, smiling as he does so at their enthusiasm and the ease with which they hang off each other. He has that, is the thing, or had; the once easy touches he’s shared have become sharp and foreign, like he’s lost the ability overnight.

The guys turn away after Zayn’s snapped a few pictures, heading back in the direction of the kitchen and Niall doling out drinks, playing the role of party host, even if it’s Harry and Louis’ house — not his. Zayn watches them, taking another picture of their backs as they go, the easy way they have their arms slung around each other. This one’s just for him, but that’s part of why he started taking pictures at parties. He likes to capture all these moments, stolen away like something he can treasure, the times when people don’t care about anything but themselves. It’s one of his favourite things, taking pictures of people who are so involved in each other, trying to capture the moment in time when it’s all about someone else, and then trying to recreate it on his canvas.

It’s why he likes candid photos the best, getting to capture people as they are, not performing for the camera. Like Niall in the kitchen laughing and pouring drinks, and Zayn takes photos of that more than anything. The way Niall throws his head back when he laughs, the way people stare at him. Niall has a way of making people feel comfortable, he gets it, and if Zayn wasn't taking photos he might be there along with them all. Instead he captures the way Niall laughs, and the way people hang around him, the couple in the corner, arms linked around each other and hands tucked into their jeans. When he looks back at the picture on his screen he tries to ignore the pang of sadness he gets at that, the wistful wishing at the way their eyes meet, looking at each other like they’re the only people in the room, uncaring of who sees it.

“Nialler!” someone yells from across the noise of the room, and everyone turns in the direction except Niall himself. Zayn captures that on camera, and when Louis runs across the room. He pulls up just in time (or too late, depending on what he was planning to do) and slides straight into Niall, wrapping his arms around him as they both half fall into the bench laughing, knocking plastic cups to the floor. 

Niall turns in his arms, wrapping arms around him in a tight hug, both arms wrapping around his shoulders, and they rock together for a moment. Zayn has to look away, turn his attention back to the living room where people are scattered around the couches. Harry is laying on the ground and telling a story, if his hands are any indication.

Louis is a bit too much for him at the moment, puts an itch beneath his skin that he can't quite reach to scratch at. It's something new, feels like somethings been building between them and Zayn doesn't know what it is, but it's putting him off balance, making him second guess every interaction and pull back when he wants to reach out. 

Zayn can't tell if it’s something that's changed between them, or if it's something that's changed in _him._ Touches gone from easy and plentiful, to harder, every time they're touching Zayn feels like he's vibrating out of his skin, from worry or something else that Zayn's trying not to think about it, like if he gives thought to it, it'll make it real. Zayn doesn't know how to handle that. 

It would be easier if he could take a step back maybe, pull back from Louis, but if there's one thing he wants less than putting a name to this thing bubbling in him, it's _losing it,_ so he persists, touching even when it feels like his whole body might combust from it. 

He's always been too open, is the thing, can't keep his cards to his chest. It's only a matter of time before his house of cards comes tumbling down — and he's mixing all his card metaphors up, like a metaphor pick up fifty-two. 

He turns his attention back to Louis in the kitchen, laughing and stealing away bottles as Niall tries to make a drink. Eventually Niall wraps an arm around his neck, dragging him down with it, and if it were anyone else it might get rough, turn into a play fight or wrestling on the kitchen floor, makes a swipe at the bottle, and Louis waves the bottle away from his body, evading Niall’s grasping hand. Zayn snaps a picture just as Niall places a kiss to the side of Louis’ cheek, and shoves Louis away.

“Get away with you, Tommo,” Niall half yells, and Louis grabs the drink Niall’s just poured as well, dodging from Niall’s fingers when he reaches and dancing away from Niall and out of his reach as Niall flips him off. He’s smiling after Louis all the same, even as Louis finishes his drink and flips him off in return.Zayn captures that too with a press of his finger, wants to immortalise the looks on Niall and Louis’ faces both, the way they pretend at fighting but their faces tell a different story.

Zayn wonders what his face would look like through the screen, if he could turn the camera back on himself, what would it show? He suspects his own feelings would be written all over his face, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Zayn’s always been an all in sort of guy, and he’s self aware enough to know he’s been all in about Louis for a while now, probably for as long as he can remember, really. He can’t remember a time when he wasn’t turning towards Louis, like a sunflower trying to capture every hint of sunlight. Zayn does want it, is the problem, and it’s only getting worse. The once small crush he had, from the first time he ran into Louis, all loud and confident and everything Zayn wanted to be, half in awe and half something else he wasn’t ready to deal with then.

He’s still not ready now, but it doesn’t feel like he’s got much of a choice in the matter. It’s either that or pull away, and that’s not even worth considering.

Zayn draws the camera back to Louis as he moves, taking a gulp of the bottle he stole, wincing a little, but going back for a second drink all the same. There’s a whole party around them, but for all he cares Louis might be the only one in the room. Zayn keeps taking photos, trying to capture everything from the way he moves, the way he dances around someone who is stumbling their way back to the kitchen.

It's not staring if it's through a camera lens. Zayn wants to capture it all, from the cut of his cheekbones, the way he holds himself, the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. Zayn is self aware enough to realise that these photos he’s taking have less to do with reference pictures for his art (if they ever were) and more to do with pictures just for him.

Louis pats Liam on the back as he passes, and then the way he half runs up the stairs. Zayn has to zoom back out so he doesn’t lose Louis in the shot. All of a sudden he does anyway, and Louis is too big for the camera, swimming up close and then Zayn can’t focus on anything until he feels someone tugging the camera away from his face. 

He’s like one of those wildlife photographers who don’t see the lion coming until it’s too late, caught up in the moment. Zayn didn’t even realise he was coming up until he’s looking right into Louis’ blue eyes. He feels all at once too much on display to handle ― everything he’d been trying to avoid all night.

“Are you being a creeper again, Zayn?”

“Don’t touch the lens.” Zayn pulls the camera out of Louis’ hands, and makes the effort to look away from Louis to inspect his camera. “I don’t need your grotty fingers smudging up my pictures.”

“Oi,” Louis says, but he has a smile on his face that says he’s not offended. Louis drops down beside Zayn, leaning into him like he always does. Part of Zayn wants to pull away to put distance between them, but he never will, melting into Louis likes he’s always done, from the first time the too loud person he’d been drawn to at the party had stepped beside him, asking to bum a fag.

He’s not stopped leaning in since. Tonight’s no different.

Zayn makes a point not to look down at Louis, scanning the room instead, and taking a picture of the party going on around them. Not much has changed, other than the fact that Harry now has his head in some bird’s lap, but Zayn snaps the picture anyway, taking a picture of Harry’s face as he looks up at her, capturing his happy lopsided smile. If there’s anyone more transparent than him, it’s Harry.

“Where’ve you been all night?” Louis asks, “Feel like I’ve barely seen you.”

There’s a hint of something in Louis’ voice, and it sounds tender. It sends a pang right through Zayn.

“Around,” he says with a shrug, trying to keep his voice calm, even as it feels like his heart is beating out of his chest. When did it become so hard to be around Louis, every touch and conversation setting him on edge? “Taking photos and stuff. Making sure there’ll be some record of all of this when you lot can’t remember making fools of yourselves.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Louis asks, but his voice is light still. “When are you going to join us for some fun, then?”

“I am having fun,” Zayn says, but the words feel hollow, even to him.

Louis hums in response, and takes a swig from the bottle before offering it out to Zayn. 

It’s just as horrible as Louis had made it look. Zayn’s only had a couple of beers, not enough to ease the way of bad booze, but he drinks it down anyway, even as he knows its a bad idea. There’s a part of him that thinks maybe this is what he needs, something to loosen him up and ease the thing that’s between them, a push, even if it ends up being in the wrong direction. This balancing on the precipice of something is getting to Zayn, making him itch and want to move, something that he hasn’t been able to soothe, not even with his usual allocation of booze and pot, because even that just makes him think of Louis, make him want to light up near him and cuddle in with him like they usually do.

Almost like they’re doing now. 

It does soothe him a little, as they pass the bottle back and forth between them. Louis stays close to his side, but doesn’t try to talk to him again, though he must know something’s up with Zayn. Usually he’d be dragging Zayn out into the middle of the party probably, or happy to go on his own. Zayn doesn’t always need to be in the middle of it like Louis, and he’s okay with that, doesn’t need the attention like Louis sometimes needs, needs to feel like everyone is looking at him, like people might forget him if they aren’t looking ― as if that could ever be possible.

It’s easier as well not having to look at Louis, and if his feelings are written across his face, at least Louis can’t see it. Zayn lets himself lean into it, their heads brushing together, lets himself take the offered bottle, hands bumping against each other. He tastes the traces of Louis’ cigarettes, licks the sweeter taste of Louis’ last drink off the bottle, and finally, lets himself lean into Louis, lets himself relax against him, without questioning if he’s being too much.

Which is when Louis ruins his newfound peace.

“So,” he says, after taking another drink, and passing it back to Zayn. They’re making their way through the bottle well enough, down to a third. The alcohol has settled in his mostly empty stomach, giving Zayn a pleasant buzz under his skin, from Louis and the bottle if he’s honest, but it’s a nice hum, right up until Louis breaks the silence, and Zayn feels like he comes tumbling back into his body, and just like that the buzz feels loud in his ears, under his skin. “Are you going to tell me why you’ve been hiding away?”

“Haven’t been,” Zayn counters, because he’s been working so hard on trying to portray normalcy, even when it’s been feeling like a storm under his skin. “I’ve been right here,” he adds.

“Yeah but like,” Louis says, and then grumbles. “You’ve been here, but—” he waves his hand around, motioning to the room. “But you’re also not, bro. You’ve not been all here. Something on your mind?”

_You._ He wonders what would happen if he said the words, spoke them out loud into the world, spoke them out loud to _Louis._ He’d forgotten this, that for all Louis might act like he’s the only person in the room, that he pays attention, that he _cares so fiercely._ He’s always the first person to turn up with a bottle and a hug when Zayn’s feeling down, or dragging him out to a party or the latest superhero movie for a distraction. How did he ever expect to keep it to himself.

He wants to confess, he wants to turn and capture Louis’ cheeks with his hands close the distance between them. He’s never been very good at this bit. It’s been a bit of a mystery to him, how he’s ever managed to close this distance. Usually it just falls together somehow, and Zayn’s never sure of all the steps to get there, like finding yourself tucked into bed after a night out on the town. It’s all a bit of a blur, but if he does want to get there this time he’s going to have to do it.

And he does so want to do it.

Zayn shrugs, handing the bottle down to Louis and letting his hand drop to Louis’ thigh, squeezing lightly. It’s nothing he hasn’t down before, nothing _they_ haven’t done before but there’s something loaded about it tonight, a testing of the waters, and he wonders if Louis can feel the difference like he can, if the intent within his actions is leeching through somehow in the way his fingers press against the material of Louis’ jeans.

If Louis does feel it, it doesn’t make him pull away, and it’s enough to make Zayn feel like maybe this might not end in disaster. 

“Wanna head outside for a smoke?” If he’s going to do this, he can’t do it here, not when it feels like there are too many eyes on him.

“Alright,” Louis says amicably, getting to his feet and offering his hand out for Zayn. They head up the stairs to the outside balcony, and it’s empty like it usually is. For all that the house is fairly open when it comes to parties, people tend to stay away from upstairs. Zayn can hear people chatting away, and the sharp tang of weed is drifting up from somewhere, so there’s probably people hanging out in the garden, but this is usually _their_ spot, reserved for the five of them, and Zayn is infinitely grateful for it in the moment.

Louis reaches for the light switch and Zayn stops him with a hand over his. There’s enough light coming through that Zayn can still see the raise of his eyebrow in question.

“Bit nicer, innit? Nice ambience and all that.”

“Wanker,” Louis snorts, but he drops his hand all the same.

Zayn ignores the chairs and table, instead leaning against the brick wall as he lights a cigarette for Louis, passing it over before lighting one for himself, placing his lighter back in his pocket. Zayn’s lighters always have a habit of going missing in this house. 

The view of the city is nice. If he looks out at it, he can almost pretend he’s all alone, that he isn’t standing next to one of his best friends, like everything doesn’t rest on his next words. Leaving his cig between his lips he brings the camera back up to his eye, taking a picture of the sprawl of the city, stalling for time. 

There’s only so long he can drag this out, Louis’ been incredibly patient beside him, waiting him out while they burn out their cigarettes. He can be patient, not many people know that, but it’s a side Louis doesn’t always let out, not around all the people where he tries to be the biggest, loudest version of himself. But here, between the two of them, he grows softer and quieter. This is the side that other people don’t get to see, the Louis who can wait, the Louis who will take care of him come the morning, and Zayn feels like it’s a treasure, getting to see this side of him that other people don’t get to see. 

Gets to know him. 

He turns towards Louis, rolling to lean his shoulder against the hard brick wall. Louis echoes his movement, and Zayn brings the camera back up. He can only really see a shadow of Louis, through the lens, the outside of his face from the light inside.he lights from next door throw him in Silhouette; there’s just a hint of the blue in his eyes, but it’s still enough, and Zayn takes the picture, capturing the moment in time.

“Zayn,” Louis says, when he drops the camera down to look at the image he’s just taken.

“Did you know people used to believe you can capture someone’s soul with a camera?” Zayn interrupts, before Louis can say anything, because Zayn feels like if Louis says what he wants to say Zayn will lose his courage. He’s not sure where he’s going with this, but he continues on anyway. “Some people still do. Some people think it captures a part of you when you take a photo, some people won’t allow you to take their photo.”

Louis laughs lightly, his hand coming up to rest on Zayn’s where it’s holding his camera still. 

“Does that mean you’ve got a piece of me now, Zayn?” he asks softly. “On that camera.”

“Something like that.”

_Fuck it,_ he thinks, letting the cigarette fall from his lips, intertwining their fingers together and leaning forward to close the distance between them.

Louis tastes sharp, like all the Vodka and smokes they’ve shared. There’s still a hint of the drink he had earlier, stronger than it had been on the bottle before. There’s a moment where he doesn’t react, and Zayn’s blood runs cold, before Louis steps in closer, trapping their intertwined hands between their bodies, as he brings his other arm up to grip at Zayn’s hip. Zayn steps in closer again, turning Louis to press his back against the wall, leaning in until the camera presses sharply against his stomach, and Zayn breaks away. 

Zayn’s breathing heavy, and like every fibre of his body is pulsing with the blood rushing through his veins. He regrets the darkness now, wishes he could see Louis properly now, look at his face to see what’s written across it. Louis hasn’t pushed him away, and his hand is still on Zayn’s hip, hot on his skin even through his shirt. Zayn doesn’t dare to move, he’s hardly even breathing, waiting for something, some sign of where to go from here. 

Finally, Louis’ thumb strokes over Zayn’s hand. It’s like being released from a spell and Zayn can finally breathe again, air rushing into his lungs so quickly Zayn feels dizzy from it.

“Is this why you’ve been acting funny lately?” Louis asks, and Zayn feels the laughter bubble up in his chest, until he can’t hold it in anymore, escaping outside of him with such force that Zayn can barely hold himself up, leaning into Louis, regardless of the camera between them.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, when he can speak again. 

“Awww, Zayn,” Louis says, and Zayn can hear the laughter in his voice. “Were you having a bit of a crisis? Over me?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn mumbles, biting the skin at Louis’ shoulder through his shirt. He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath at that, and Zayn makes a note to come back to that later, when he doesn’t feel like he might combust even through it.

“You could have just told me.” Louis’ thumb is still rubbing at Zayn’s skin, and he wraps his hand around Zayn’s back, pulling him closer. Zayn takes on hand off his camera, sliding it up to Louis side, and drops the camera to hold at his side, so their bodies can finally press against each other properly.

Zayn’s heart is still pounding the blood rushing in his ears, and he’s fully aware that Louis hasn’t actually said _anything_ about Zayn kissing him, but he knows Louis, and he knows that just like there was no coming back from kissing Louis, that they’ve already started down the path, their destination a foregone conclusion now. Louis would have pushed him away if he didn’t want Zayn, and he hasn’t, he’s pulled him even tighter.

Louis’ hands are a distraction against his skin, and Zayn still doesn’t think he has the words to say what he wants, but he wants to say something.

“I love you,” he says, because it’s true, but it’s also nothing new, and— “ I want you.”

Louis groans, dropping his head back against the wall, hard enough that Zayn winces in sympathy.

Zayn pushes his free hand into Louis’ hair, stroking his hand through Louis’ hair — longer now than it’s been in all the time Zayn’s met him. It feels nice to run his fingers through, and he does so almost idly, until Louis groans again, and leans down to capture Zayn’s lips in his own. 

Louis opens flicks his tongue against Zayn’s lips, tongue slipping between his lips almost before Zayn opens them. This kiss is rougher, fiercer, and Louis is pushing his tongue into Zayn’s mouth, pressing his body against Zayn’s and pulling him in tighter. Zayn gives as good as he gets, using his hold on Louis’ hair to pull his head to him, and capturing the resulting groan in his mouth.

This time when they pull apart they’re both breathing hard. Zayn’s cock is starting to make its interest known, the arousal pooling deep in his stomach. It’s not news that he finds Louis attractive, but it’s the first time he’s got hard over him, and part of Zayn feels a relief at it, the familiar reaction a reminder that for all Louis might be different, it’s still the same really, even his cock thinks so.

“Do you want to take this somewhere else?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and then ducks his head again to place a kiss against Louis lips, biting at his lower lip when Louis starts to open for him. He presses in close to Louis, enough that he must be able to feel Zayn’s erection pressing into him, and Louis groans deep again. They’re gasping again by the time they draw away. He almost ducks in for another kiss despite that, because Louis’ lips look red, swollen and spit-wet, and absolutely _kissable_ practically begging for it, but Louis ducks his head, stepping out sideways away from Zayn. 

Louis’ hand is still covering Zayn’s on the camera, and he wraps his fingers around Zayn’s, not enough to be holding hands, but Zayn lets himself be pulled along by it anyway, following Louis inside. The noise of the party is louder then before, but Louis ignores it, tugging Zayn through to his bedroom. 

He doesn’t switch the light on, but the room is bathed in the light from the street lamps, enough that Zayn can see Louis even clearer than outside. Zayn is the one to break the contact first, dropping Louis’ fingers to place the camera down on his bedside table, but as soon as it’s placed safely away, Louis wraps his arms around him again, and pulls Zayn down to the bed with him.

It’s a bit of a tussle, rolling on the bed, and it’s more playful than anything, as they kiss and touch, hands seeking out each others skin until they’re finally down to just their pants. Zayn’s been in Louis’ bed before, he’s slept in just his pants before because he always runs hot, and Louis doesn’t mind as long as he can have a cuddle too. It’s nothing like those times though, it’s nothing like anything Zayn’s done before, and he should have probably expected this, if he’d stopped to think about what sex with Louis might actually be like.

“Can I blow you?” Louis asks, fingers trailing along the elastic of his pants, the last barrier between them, and Zayn stops thinking completely. There’s a sound that comes out, nothing like the yes he intends for it to be. Something must give him away because Louis tips him into his back, pulling his pants down his legs, and Zayn can at least function enough to kick them the rest of the way. 

It leaves him naked before Louis.

He’s grateful for the lack of light. Zayn isn’t self-conscious, not really, but it still feels a lot, feels like he’s on display, naked in a way he doesn’t usually feel, all from Louis’ gaze on him. Louis climbs between Zayn’s legs, and Zayn feels even more on display. 

It’s Louis’ hands that calm him again, coming up to rest at his thigh and at his hip, they feel familiar, and tender even as he can see the fingers, pressing into flesh of his legs. It’s reverent almost, at odds with everything Louis usually is, because Louis has never missed an opportunity to take the piss, but now he’s just looking.

“Of course you’d have a pretty dick.”

Zayn bursts out in laughter, and Louis takes him in his hand while he’s still laughing through it, stroking lightly as his laughter turns to a groan. His other hand slides up to cup his balls, palming them as he almost lazily strokes Zayn’s cock. Zayn’s already so turned on, hard just from a bit of kissing and fondling, and so ready for it when Louis finally ducks to take him inside. 

He groans loud enough that he’d be worried about Harry hearing him if there weren’t a party going on in the rest of the house. 

Louis keeps eye contact with him as he lavishes attention at his head, sliding his lips over the head, and licking against his crown. He gets him all wet before he starts to really move, sliding his lips and mouth down Zayn’s cock, meeting his hand and getting him all wet. Zayn groans, and he wants to look away, wants _Louis_ to look away, but he can’t find it in himself to break the eye contact, not even when Louis eyes flutter shut when Louis drops his hand away Zayn’s cock catches at his throat. 

There are tears in his eyes, but he’s still looking and Zayn’s hands shoot up to hold at Louis’ hair. He’s half expecting to have his hand pushed away, but Louis just leans into it, closing his eyes for a moment, before blinking open again.

Zayn can feel his orgasm building, there’s a tension in his stomach, and a tightness in his balls, and his legs are starting to shake, and he knows it won’t be much longer. Zayn’s other hand shoots out to hold at Louis jaw, not enough to hold him down, but enough to feel the line of his jaw, and the stretch of his cheek, around his _cock_ , _fuck._ He bumps his leg into Louis, mumbles something he hopes sounds enough like words to be a warning, but it’s only a moment before he’s shooting off down Louis throat, his eyes falling shut as his orgasm overtakes him.

“Fuck,” Zayn says, when his brain is starting to come back to him. His hands have fallen away from Louis at some stage — probably good for Louis hair. Louis has pulled away to kneeling, pants shoved down to his thighs, and a hand on his cock. He’s barely stroking, just holding his erection as he watches Zayn.

_Waits for Zayn._

“Come here,” Zayn says, reaching up a hand, and pulling Louis down beside him. He wraps his hand around and starts to stroke him properly, turning properly so he can take Louis in.

“Fuck,” Louis says, hips jerking and cock thrusting into his fist. “I’m gonna be done so quick.”

“S’alright babes,” Zayn mumbles into his lips, they’re spit slick, and shiny and Zayn captures them with his lips again, captures Louis moans into his mouth too, as he strokes Louis faster. His other hand comes up between them, running over Louis’ chest, and over his chest, pinching at his nipples as he bites at his bottom lip when Louis drops the kiss, moaning, and then coming over Zayn’s fist and stomach.

Zayn cleans off his hand, and stomach with some tissues from the bedside table, dropping them to the floor to deal with later, that _hopefully_ Louis will deal with later. They both need a shower really, the booze, smoke and sweat thick between them, but Zayn isn’t moving if Louis isn't. 

He notices his camera after, swipes it from the bedside table, and takes a photo of Louis before Louis realises what he’s doing. Louis face is red, his chest too, and his hair is a mess. His lips are red and swollen and still shiny and wet, and Zayn wants to capture it all, just for him.

“Seriously?” Louis asks when he opens his eyes directly into a camera, and Zayn takes a picture of that too, of how his pupils are still blown wide. 

Louis rolls on top of him, wrestling the camera from him and sitting up on his stomach with it in his hands. His finger twitches against the button, and Zayn doesn’t even try to hide from it, hands coming up to hold Louis’ legs, but not making any attempt to pull away from the camera. 

Louis places the camera back, flopping back against his body, and Zayn grabs the camera again, wrapping his arm around Louis as he pulls the camera away from himself, staring the lens down as he takes a photo, and then another when he looks away from the camera to look at Louis instead. 

“You’re such a dork,” Louis says, when he’s done but it’s tender, and Zayn rolls over, wrapping him up in his arms their bodies pressing tight together.

“I wanted to capture the moment.”

“A dork,” Louis says with a little huff, but his voice is getting slower and heavier, the way it does when he’s falling asleep. Zayn places another kiss on his forehead, because he can, and lets himself drift along after.

  


The next day he inspects the photos. As suspected, his emotions are written all over his face.

And he’s okay with that.

ions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life  
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Rebloggable fic post [here](https://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/post/186346839940/let-you-in-under-my-skin-by-icarusinflight-fandom)


End file.
